Halfway Home
by halynaloves
Summary: Revelations are made and a friendship becomes something more in the midst of stressful preparations for the OWLs.


**Title**: Halfway Home  
**Characters**: Dean Thomas/ Seamus Finnigan  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Words**: 1,530  
**Summary**: Revelations are made and a friendship becomes something more in the midst of prepration for the OWLs.  
**Warnings**: Sexual situations (male/male), but nothing too explicit.  
**Disclaimer**: I own none of what I write about; all credit goes to the brilliant J.K. Rowling and all others who took part in creating the Harry Potter books and films.

**A/N**: This is my first fanfiction I've e_ver _written, and I'm really nervous about it. I'm pretty sure I didn't do justice to Dean/Seamus, but I'm hoping you guys will enjoy it. :) Also, the title for this was taken from the song Halfway Home by TV on the Radio.

_**Halfway Home**_

Dean was going fucking insane. Growling in frustration, he tossed his quill across the room and rubbed at his eyes with coarse fingers. _What was wrong with him?_ Yes, the OWLs were right around the corner, and his Potions work was still lying uselessly in the corner, _untouched. _

Untouched.

The dark boy's features twisted into a grimace, his lips curling. Leaning back into the chair, he watched the familiar walls of the boy's dormitory. Gryffindor orange and gold and lion spun behind his eyes, making his mind reel instead of relaxing him as it usually did.

_Untouched. _

Fine! Alright, so he had been too busy lately for more than a quick wank in the showers, and even then he wasn't satisfied, because of course every time he was so, _so close, _one of the boys had to rush in, because Dean Thomas studied day and night and if you've got questions, well, then he's the one to go to. You aren't ready for Transfiguration? Well, what are you waiting for? Ask Dean! He's got all the bloody answers!

Oh, it's not that he didn't have his options. He did, mind you. Lavender Brown, for instance, had taken an especially keen interest in him this past week, dodging his _very obvious _refusals, trailing her long, slutty fingers down his arms, cornering him in dark hallways, fluttering her eyelashes at him… Merlin, _girls. _

And this was where Dean Thomas even felt more abnormal than he usually did. So, he was a 15 year old bloke who liked… well, not girls anyway. Or did he? Maybe he'd just never met the right girl? He just… he was never… Dean let out another growl, sprawling on the nearest bed to him, laying his head on his arms. Fine, so he didn't like girls. He was a bloke who liked blokes. Not that he'd ever tell anyone, because then there would be too many questions, too many raised eyebrows, too many side-long glances, and most terrifying, unconscious distances that would form between him and his friends. Sighing, he turned over on his side and proceeded to fall asleep, something he had not done in a while, and it was such a blissful break from reality, from _thinking, _that it almost felt like heaven.

*

Seamus was sweaty, and panting, and filthy, and _happy. _He stretched his well-toned, pasty arms out over his head, and shook out his wet hair. Quidditch was such a brilliant fucking _release. _Just a few notches lower than a good fuck, though, he thought with a wry grin.

"Nice game, yeah? Makes me want to take a good, long nap. After a shower, 'course," Seamus said with a snicker, looking over his companion.

"Point. But I've got bloody detention with Snape, _again, _and I can't be late. And this time it's with bloody Malfoy, can't wait, whoopee, exciting day this'll be!" Harry said bitterly, mouth set into a thin line, visible tension on his face.

"Hey, consider it a much needed break from studying for the OWLs! See you later, mate!" Seamus called out with pity, already jogging towards the Gryffindor boys' dormitories.

*

Seamus barged into the room, took a quick look around, saw that it was empty and ran straight for the showers. The pelting water was welcome on his strained shoulders, and he felt the last of his tension ebb away. Closing his eyes, he sighed with contentment. He slowly massaged shampoo into his hair, long fingers raking over his scalp, eyes fluttering with a fantasy of someone else's fingers doing the wandering and exploring, and perhaps on _other _parts of his body. His cock twitched in appreciation, becoming even harder under the hot shower. A wank was in order, and Seamus' hands were only too happy to oblige.

Five minutes and a blissful release and content (yet unsastisfied) prick later, Seamus stumbled drowsily into the dormitory, naked and wet and _cold. _His robes were a mess from flying and being pelted with mud during the game of Quidditch, and since no one was in the room anyways, why take the time to get covered with a towel?

Merlin! It was freezing! Rushing over to his bed, his shock at seeing another person laying on his bed could not stop his feet from slipping on the cool tiles and landing right on a sleeping, dry, and very male bulk on his bed. With a yelp, Seamus sprawled in a rather undignified manner over Dean (and didn't he just look so cute when he was asleep?) and tightly clutched at the other boy's body for support. Dean's head jerked up with surprise, and his sleepy eyes tried to focus in on his surroundings, eyes furrowed in confusion.

"What the…" he started, but then his eyes widened in astonishment, then horror, then something else entirely when he realized that Seamus was sprawled on top of him, naked and wet, a delicious fantasy any gay bloke would drool over. His mind screeched to a halt while his eyes glazed over and something down south very visibly began to stand at attention. Was he still dreaming?

"Seamus…?" Dean begin, but something in Seamus' gaze made him stop.

Dean had a smirk on his face, and Merlin, it looked so delicious and evil and spicy and Dean could only think what it'd taste like, what his lips would feel like under his own, whether his lips would part with a moan or a scream when hot breath would ghost over every part of his body, over every inch and curve and imperfection that Dean realized he'd wanted for himself for… how long now? When had his mind subconsciously decided that Seamus was actually quite fit, and that Dean no longer only liked him as a best mate, but more. Merlin, he _couldn't think, _not now, not when Seamus was spread over him like... like that.

"Your in my bed," Seamus whispered and somehow he had gotten closer, his lips pressing against the shell of his ear, his arms splayed over Dean's chest, fire hot against his (very thin) shirt.

"I, um… well… I…" Dean's brain hurt from thinking, he could not, for the life of him, remember how he had gotten on Seamus' bed; for all he knew rabid monkeys had come and deposited him there.

"Well, now that you're here…" Seamus drew out the suggestive words with an innocent expression on his face, eyes wide with amusement.

And suddenly the room had gained a hundred degrees in temperature and every cell and fiber in Dean's body screamed out in joy, pure, unrestrained, joy, because this was what it had wanted, dreamed of for so, so long.

Seamus murmured something under his breath, and suddenly Dean was blissfully and completely naked. Dean stiffened under the watchful eyes of the boy above him, and he closed his eyes, because this was the moment when Seamus was probably going to decide to take everything back, stutter about mistakes or a bludger to the head or some other bullocks, and then his stupid, stupid heart would probably break into a tiny million fragile things and-

Dean's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils dilated, and his back arched off the bed spectacularly, a shrill groan reaching the ceiling and enveloping the two boys in a delicious, hot, and throbbing cocoon of desire. Seamus' eyes sparkled with glee, his tongue tracing a dark, hard nipple, hands roaming over every ridge of Dean's body.

"Like that, don't you?" Seamus murmured and puffed out a breath over Dean's stomach, scraping teeth over sensitive flesh, then pressing light kisses over the angry red lines.

All Dean could do was writhe and gasp, and moan deep and low in his throat, his voice hoarse with the hot bubble of desire that pooled in the center of his stomach and that was determinedly making its way a little way lower. His prick was already excited and hard, asking, _begging, _for touch, for wet, open lips, for _Seamus. _

Dean's hands finally decided that laying limply at his sides was not nearly enough, and one curled up into Seamus' hair with a bruising yet gentle grasp, while the other came out to encircle Seamus' hard, rippling shoulders, exploring the new territory. Hot skin met his touch, and Dean dug his fingernails into it and left bruises every time Seamus' tongue flicked a certain way or his hands brushed somewhere especially sensitive.

Dean dragged his eyes up to the body above him, watching through fluttering eyelashes and with parted bitten lips, Seamus, whose eyes came up, probably sensing Dean' stare. Seamus smirked, his hand reaching up to Dean's face, his fingers tracing his jaw.

"Beautiful," he muttered, skin sweating and bruised from Dean's fingers, dark hair sticking to his forehead.

Dean's hands reached up to cup Seamus' face, bringing his body on top of his own, and then their lips were pressing against each other, with first light and questioning kisses, and then with bruising force, tongues fighting against each other for the secrets of the universe, and in that moment the world righted itself for just a second and everything they'd ever feared was wiped out and there was only that kiss and their fingers intertwined.


End file.
